


Say Your Prayers

by memai



Category: Saints Row
Genre: Character Death, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Illustrated, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-12 03:41:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7919164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memai/pseuds/memai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos Mendoza, an inexperienced loan shark, gets canonized into the Saints after helping their infamous leader escape prison. Eager to retake Stilwater, Carlos finds himself trying hard to prove himself of his position as a Lieutenant. In a bid to impress the Boss, Carlos soon finds he’s way in over his head as his attempts to get on the Boss’s good side ends up way more than he’s bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Habit

* * *

_"Sé que no me conviene quererte, pero te quiero y me cuesta mucho dejarlo de hacer."_

* * *

 

It was another night at the Boss’s. The basement loft wasn’t pretty, but Carlos didn’t mind. It smelled musty and the paint on the walls were peeling, but it had become so familiar to him, he didn’t know where else he’d spend his nights.

He could hear thunder rolling outside, see the raindrops splatter on the windows. He wondered if his nights were always going to be like this. He settled into the small shared bed, the figure beside him asleep, snoring. Content after a long night, just the two of them with plenty of free time and imagination.

Carlos hadn’t banked on getting into bed with the Boss. Boss. Ramón, that was his name. But it was only between the four dank walls of that little basement apartment would Carlos ever use that name. He didn’t have to, but he felt like he could own… whatever this relationship was. Like it was a secret he got to keep. Ramón was handsome, the fuckers locked up in prison said he could have made serious money on that face if he hadn’t tried to get it blown off. The bright blue eyes had him hooked. But so too the rasp of his voice and the cool indifference he wore in his personality. Ramón was everything a Saint was, was everything Carlos’s brother said he was and more.

Ramón was… strange. Contradictory. He was ruthless and fierce, quiet and intimidating. But he could also be protective and caring, though he would never ever let anyone in on the fact. Even now, in bed, he had his arms tight around Carlos’s waist. He admired how the light, what little of it, accented Ramón’s features; lush lips, deep tan skin, tattoos and god, those eyes. Eyes. He was looking at Carlos. Blue eyes piercing into brown.

“How long have you been up?” Carlos whispered, embarrassed he’d been caught.

Ramón had a way of making someone feel small, and in that moment, Carlos had only wanted to disappear. He had a piercing glare, and in the dark it almost seemed to glow. But instead of being reprimanded, as Carlos would have ordinarily expected, Ramón reached out, and gently cupped Carlos’s face. His thumb softly traced over his lips, his boyish features, and before Carlos could even register what was happening, Ramón brought him in for a kiss. It felt intimate, sweet. Romantic, even.

What the fuck was going on?

Ramón never answered him, and Carlos couldn’t help but reciprocate the kiss, pulling him closer. Things got heated, more passionate, and Carlos wondered if there would be a repeat performance. His head was swimming in the moment, eager to feel Ramón’s body against his own, fingers tracing over inked muscle. It was so satisfying being with him-- he was with the leader of the Saints. That was validation unlike anything else, to be chosen like this. That he was worth more to Ramón on a more personal stake.

And before they could go just that bit further, Ramón stopped, his strong athletic body caged over Carlos’s. Their breaths were heavy on each other, foreheads touching. Ramón leaned down for another kiss, though Carlos couldn’t help the feeling Ramón had meant to say something then. He waited, but nothing came through. He returned the kiss, touched his face affectionately, and looked at him, “What’s wrong? Things were getting fun.” His smile punctuated the tease, but there was a layer of worry hidden underneath.

Ramón looked at him with a very deliberate look, like there were words in his mouth that wouldn’t-- couldn’t-- come out. It took a little mental arm-twisting, and Carlos knew he could use his puppy dog eyes to coax an answer out of Ramón.

“I don’t know how to say it,” he admitted, voice low and tender, the kind of tone that surprised even Carlos. Another kiss, softer this time, “I don’t know how to say it. I just want you here.”

Carlos could understand, and raised a brow, “You’re not very wordy, are you?” He wished Ramón was more specific though.

“Fuck no,” Ramón laughed with a sigh, “Just… I just want more of this. With you.” He knew then what Ramón was talking about. It was a roundabout way of talking about his feelings, but it was enough for Carlos, for now.

“Hey,” Carlos assured by stroking Ramón’s arms gently, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re mine,” was all Ramón replied before he leaned down for another kiss, and another long night under the sheets. Carlos wasn’t going to complain. He wanted the same thing too.

  
They were on the same page. He was in fucking heaven.

* * *

 

When the morning light trickled through the dirty windows, Carlos could’ve sworn he was sore in places he didn’t think could get sore. He pried one eye open, bruises on his hips, his inner thighs, the memory was enough to get him flush with excitement. God, that was something else. He remembered the way Ramón took him, hard and rough and passionate, as if he would never see Carlos again. He liked that. Loved that. Loved the way Ramón would look in his eyes with a quiet desperation, “Stay with me.”

Ramón would hold onto him, kissing him on the neck and sucking on fair skin, marking him, “You’re mine.” Carlos didn’t mind. He wanted this as much as Ramón did. He cared about making Ramón happy in any way he could. Cared about making Ramón proud and validating him. He wanted to stay this way with him too.

Ramón woke up, eyes still bleary with sleep, and moved over closer to Carlos, kissing him along his temples softly, “You stayed,” he rasped with affection, “You like it here, don’t you?”

Carlos smiled at that, “Yeah. Your apartment’s shit, but you make up for it.”

“You’re wounding me, chico.”

“Of all the places you want to shack up with me, and you want it to be here?”

“It’s got character,” Ramón rolled over on top of Carlos, kissing him again and again on the lips, over his cheekbones, between his eyebrows, “Besides, didn’t you know, this was just a one time thing.”

Carlos rolled his eyes at that, and playfully smacked Ramón on the chest, “Whatever you say.”

Time seemed to have stood still in that moment for the two of them, Carlos spoke up, breaking the peaceful silence between the two, “Hey so… about last night,” he began nervously, “Did you mean it?”

It was hard for Ramón to come out and say it. He couldn’t repeat it. What he had said had been in the heat of the moment, but he didn’t want to _lose_ Carlos either. But what would he say? He wasn’t in the position to be close to someone like that, but he didn’t want Carlos to just be a distraction on the side. He liked him. Genuinely.

Ramón swallowed a lump in his throat. Maybe more than like.

“Ramón?” Carlos snapped him out of his thoughts.

The Boss leaned down for another kiss, “Every word of it.” He smiled at Carlos. He wasn’t going to forget that moment, corny as it was. He liked that side of Ramón.

 


	2. Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things take a turn for the worse when Carlos has a rather drunken encounter with The Boss. Though he receives the validation he wants, he still feels he isn’t living up to his title of Lieutenant, and fears he may not be taken as seriously as he wants to.

* * *

_"Tengo miedo de estar solo, pero tambien tengo miedo de acercarme demasiado"_

* * *

 

Carlos didn’t remember how he ended up in bed with Ramón in the first place. It started out so casually, like a bad habit they both indulged in. A mutual itch they wanted to scratch. Carlos was surprised that Ramón was forthcoming about his preferences in men, but that just made Ramón so much more admirable. He was honest and unafraid, and that earned him even more respect from the Saints who followed him. He committed his crimes bare-faced, he would say, he wouldn’t hide who he was or what he had done.

 

The Boss had two personalities, Carlos noticed. When he hung around Purgatory, barking orders at the other Saints, or out on the streets, The Boss was like a wall of impenetrable steel. He felt nothing, he pushed on and did whatever it took to get the job done. Little wonder then, why he and Gat were such terrors whenever the two of them worked together. He remembered seeing The Boss silence an argument between Pierce and Shaundi with one glare. Had Carlos not been there to witness it, he wouldn’t have believed it himself. But there it was, pin-drop silence after twenty minutes of ceaseless bickering.

 

When there were down times however, when drinks and blunts were passed around, The Boss was different. He laughed a little easier, though still guarded. His eyes would be different too-- less harsh, less like a human weapon and more... human. Approachable. Warm.

 

His eyes. Carlos would never forget those eyes. They were bright and piercing. His brother mentioned them. That they picked up this dude with this intense look, that the Saints were taking over Stilwater with him. Carlos wasn’t sure how to picture The Boss when his brother described him, he always pictured a featureless face with bright, blue eyes. He certainly wasn’t disappointed with what he got.

 

Despite his harsh exterior, Carlos could see that The Boss cared deeply about the Saints-- and not just because they were Saints. He genuinely cared; he checked in on Shaundi whenever she came back from a party. Talked strategy with Pierce when they needed to counter a rival gang. Encouraged the others to keep up with the good work. Everyone had a connection with The Boss. Even The Boss’s little sister, Lia, brought out the best of him. He laughed when she laughed, and he was more likely to join in on games and drinks when Lia was there to coax him into a round or three.

 

It’s hard not to follow a man with a lot of charisma. The Saints loved their Boss. And Carlos loved The Boss. Maybe more than he could comfortably admit. It’d pass, he’d tell himself, The Boss wouldn’t feel the same. It was a harmless crush, a small fantasy to indulge in.

 

That’s all it was.

  
‘ _You’ve got no right to feel that way. You just like him because he gives you the time of day. He’s your leader, he won’t feel that way towards you, ever.’_

 

* * *

Carlos got to express his admiration to The Boss one night. A celebration for another operation halted on their rivals’ end. Booze and drugs and strippers, everything was lost in a hazy high. He remembered The Boss cornered him, or was it the other way around? He remembered them kissing, “I just wanna try something,” The Boss slurred, “I just… you’re so hot.”

 

Carlos didn’t fight back. In fact, he was enthusiastic for the drunken affection, “Yeah, you… you’re not so bad yourself.” He was gone far enough that he would slip those words to The Boss, but not gone far enough to admit that he’s fantasized about an encounter like the one they were in.

 

The validation was like a drug, and he had a rush of confidence and self-esteem, so much so, that he wanted to see how far he could push it, “You wanna try something with me? I’m game… yeah. C’mon.”

 

They took their conversation to The Boss’s room in the hideout. Everything about the whole encounter was clumsy. Their hands fumbled everywhere and they might’ve tripped onto the bed. Nothing about the ordeal was elegant, but it was passionate. Carlos remembered how all of it felt like an experiment-- the excitement came from the fascination. The fascination of the tattoos inked onto The Boss’s skin and what they meant. The fascination of how athletic he was built, how his hands looked, how… oh god. He was so much to look all at once. Fuck. He was getting hard.

 

It didn’t take long for Carlos to express his want when he pulled down The Boss’s tight underwear to his thighs, every motion unsure, and trembling with stage fright. He wanted to prove to The Boss he was… something. Good at something. Not just a banger but a competent lover, maybe? Be surprising?

 

His mind was ten steps behind however. Before he realized how nerve wracking the whole encounter was, he was already sucking off The Boss. He was thick. He imagined what it must be like to be his lover, to be this close to him all the time.

 

Carlos kept sucking, eager to show how good he was. He didn’t have a lot of experience with other guys, but he’d been around. In that moment, all they heard was the murmuring of the party below them, and the sound of Carlos working on The Boss enthusiastically.

 

Even then, The Boss was reserved, his moans hinted through heavy breaths and sighs. The only sign of satisfaction was when he would lift his hips into Carlos’s mouth, “More,” he’d demand under his breath, “C’mon, don’t stop.” The Boss would run his fingers through his short hair, encouraging to keep going, “You’re good, don’t stop.”

 

So much more happened that night, but it was all a blur. He remembered hearing the soft patter of rain from above, the muffled thumping of the bass dying down. He remembered the feeling of cold whenever they moved out from under the covers. He remembered being down on his knees, fingers clawing into the sheets, panting and begging, and all his eyes could focus on were the small, personal items around The Boss’s room; T-shirts in monochrome shades, plastic knock-off Ultor sunglasses, a bowl full of change, car keys and crumpled receipts.

 

“Fuck,” he let out when The Boss hit a particularly sweet spot. His toes curled, his fingers dug deeper into the mattress, until all he could hear was the beating of his heart and the soft creaking of the bed frame.

 

What did he get himself into? What was he doing? “Fuck,” he shivered, goose bumps rising on his skin as he arched his back and pushed against The Boss. He wanted more, deeper and harder and faster. The Boss’s hands crept up along his neck, down his back and rested on his hips.

 

It didn’t matter.

 

It didn’t matter that he was making a mistake by doing this. Everything felt so good. He begged for more, to please, _please_ give him more, he was so close now. “Don’t stop, please,” his throat was dry, his voice rasped, “I wanna come, I wanna come, please don’t stop.”

  
The night ended there, and they both fell into a tired heap onto the mattress, bodies slick with sweat and pleasure. He wouldn’t forget the smile The Boss flashed to him, pleased at the encounter, no doubt.

* * *

 

Carlos remembered waking up from that encounter groggy, hungover and embarrassed. He slept with The Boss. That truth hit him the hardest when he noticed the light bruises on his hips.

 

Someone must’ve heard.

 

Someone knows.

 

He felt guilty, thinking that the other Saints were going to brand him as the guy who slept his way to his Lieutenant rank. God, this was a mess. Why’d he do it?

  
He snuck out of the room, out of the hideout, before anyone else had the chance to see him. He needed to get cleaned up, needed to get his thoughts in order. He needed breakfast and a cold shower.


	3. Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One car ride and a drug deal later, Carlos wonders if he’s done the right thing. Ramon does little to help Carlos’s questioning, or their relationship.

* * *

  _"¿Seré su amor o quizás solo soy su pasatiempo?"_

* * *

 

Bullets echoed through the air, like loud claps of thunder, one after another, louder and louder. The Sons of Samedi had pushed back against the Saints disrupting their dealers and trades. The Boss could only respond to their retaliation with even more firepower and gusto than the other side.

One member, crazed from Loa Dust, charged at The Boss with all the fury the dust granted him. Eyes wild and hands arched into a claw, The Boss grabbed the oncoming banger by the neck and slammed him hard onto the ground. He wasted no time in bringing his heavy boot down against their throat, and smiled when he heard a satisfying crunch. The next one that tried met the same end. The one after had a bullet blow the back of his head out.

Those who tried fell to The Boss’s guns and fists. What he couldn’t blow off with a shotgun, he beat with his own fists. And when he ran low on ammo, he picked up whatever he could and had his way with the rival gangs. The put downs grew increasingly brutal. He had no mercy for his enemies. The fight was long, but not hard. Still, he was tired, leaning against a dirty, graffitied wall for support, catching his breath. The other Saints rushed to help him, but The Boss brushed them all away, “I’m fine,” he’d grunt, “I’m fine, just get out of here. Clean this mess up. C’mon, those fuckers are gonna bleed on my new rims.”

He was bruised but the blood that was slick on his skin was not his. They were from the others. Or at least, he was sure they weren’t his. The Boss wore it as a sign of pride, even Gat had to admit it was a touch macabre. “You look like hell,” he commented when The Boss slunk back to the safety of the hideout.

“Yeah? I feel like it too,” The Boss could barely stand, the fight taking more out of him than he was ready to admit. Gat wanted to say something, but he knew better and kept his tongue in place.

“I’m headin’ out for a beer later, you wanna come?” It was his way of taking care of The Boss. The old church doors opened with a squeak, and the floorboards underneath them creaked in protest. Heavy, musty air hit them hard once they crossed the threshold into the lower levels.

“Later,” The Boss replied, making his way to his room, still holding onto the walls for support, “Later man, I’m all fucked up now.”

“Aight.”

Most people would’ve done more. But Gat knew The Boss since the early days; he didn’t need this kind of help. He could handle things on his own, he was stubborn that way. Not that Gat couldn’t admire that sort of fortitude and constitution.

The Boss slipped on a hoodie, and made his way down to the hideout. When he opened the door to his room, he smiled at the memory that took place the night before.

He fell onto the bed, breathing hard. He was sore all over, hurt in places he didn’t notice throughout the fight. When he rolled over to a more comfortable position, he rolled onto a familiar shirt. He smiled, “Man that was a good night. Shame you had to leave.”

Oh. Shit.  
_  
_ He realized then he was bleeding all over it, and got up, only to fall down hard on the floor.

 

* * *

 

Cold water never felt so welcome. Carlos rested his back against the cool, grimy tiles, letting the water stream off him. He was half tempted to curl up into a ball and just sit there, but he had some digging to do on the Brotherhood. Water dripped off his eyelashes as he made an attempt to get himself cleaned up and ready for the day, despite the pulsing headache and grogginess.

He needed to focus on something. Let his mind go. The bathroom of his shared apartment was small, the shower and sink and toilet crammed up against each other a little too closely. Clothes hung on piles behind the door, towels slipped down onto the floor. Cans and bottles of products crowded the too small sink. There _was_ supposed to be a mirror, but all that’s left of it was a faint outline of where it had been once. He missed the basement loft of The Boss’s. He missed Ramón.

Fuck, this was getting out of hand, and all Carlos could focus on was the sound of the water echoing off the tiled walls.

Bar of soap in hand, he started to clean himself, determined to get through the day without further distractions. Although, he couldn’t help notice when he felt light bruises on him. Memories of the night before rushed back into his head, and it was hard to keep himself collected when he replayed flashes of what he could remember.

“Dammit,” he mumbled when he felt himself going hard again. This was stupid, he decided, and stopped himself. ‘Focus,’ he’d tell himself, ‘Focus, you have a job to do,’ knocking boots with The Boss was fun, but it’d be even less fun if he was thrown out of the Saints because he was a sloppy Lieutenant.

His hands reached down, and he gave himself two firm strokes. He sighed, leaned his head back, holding onto the walls to steady himself. He remembered the Boss’s eyes, his body, the way he held him down and had him. He remembered the tight feeling of being full of Ramón, his moans, his sighs…

It didn’t feel the same. He wanted more of him. Wanted to be close.

 _‘This is stupid,’_ he thought, _‘This is so stupid, what’s wrong with me?’_

Frustrated, he rinsed himself, and twisted the shower knob off. He needed to be out and about. Get shit done. Talk to people.

What had he gotten himself into?

 

* * *

 

“Hold still, you’re gonna make it worse when you keep flinching like that,” Shaundi patched up The Boss the best she could, “C’mon, it’s just a bit more.”

“Good thing you’re not a doctor,” The Boss grumbled, sitting on the new-old sofas in the hideout, his body plastered with bandages, “You’ve got terrible bedside manners.” He yelped when Shaundi pressed the alcohol soaked cotton ball a little too hard when cleaning. It didn’t escape The Boss’s notice when she smiled at his sudden complacency. 

She clucked her tongue, “You said this wasn’t even _your_ blood.”

The Boss shrugged.

“Hang on, we’re gonna need more bandages.” Shaundi got up from the old wooden stool and held her hands out, “You really did a number on yourself, Boss.”

“Yeah?” 

“It’s a good look. Don’t move.” She disappeared around the couch and over to the small makeshift kitchen.

The Boss dropped his head behind, resting it against the couch as he stared up at the rotting ceiling. He could hear Shaundi going through drawers and cabinets in the kitchen.

“What happened to you?” The Boss looked over to the sound of another voice-- Carlos. And whatever frustration was built up during the fight was eased out of him with a warm smile.

“Showed the Samedi why they shouldn’t mess with the Saints,” he might’ve looked a little too proud when he said that.

Carlos took a careful seat across him, “Yeah? Heard from the others it was quite a show. I must’ve missed all the fireworks,” a laugh, “Did you really kill ‘em all?”

The Boss smiled, proud, “What can I say? I’m the best. 

“Yeah right,” Shaundi returned with a fresh kit, “‘Sup Carlos. Check out our Boss getting his ass near handed to him.” 

“Hey!” The Boss protested, “I got ‘em all, didn’t I?”

Shaundi shrugged, and returned to her work, “Well, just don’t get yourself killed, okay?” She said it with a touch more gravity than her usual laid back self, and that was enough to keep The Boss from any more remarks.

“So, Carlos,” The Boss began again, “Any word on The Brotherhood yet?”

“Not yet,” Carlos looked down, afraid of disappointing Ra--The Boss, “They’ve been keeping a tight lid on things, but I’ve got a couple of clues I’m following up. Any day now.”

“And you’re sure this is good information?”

“They’re trying to keep it a secret. If they’re keeping it a secret, it must be something they wanna keep to themselves right?” A shrug, “If they don’t want us to have it, then we gotta have it.” 

Ramón smiled, “Good.”

That was validation enough, “If I got anything else, I’ll let you know.”

“Alright.”

“And if you need me to come along--”

“Carlos.”

He kept quiet.

“Carlos,” The Boss waved his hand, “Chill. We got this.”

He nodded, “Right.”

“You could come with me later tonight though.”

Carlos perked up, “What are we doing?”

“Errands.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I just got you patched up and you’re gonna go running around getting yourself hurt again?” Shaundi folded her arms across her chest, “Are you insane?”

“We need to take the Samedi down, right?”

“Yeah?” 

“So?”

Shaundi threw her hands up in the air with exasperation, “Alright, alright. But if you’re walking back in here limping and bleeding or… whatever, I’m getting Pierce to patch you up next.”  
  
“Don’t worry, _chica_ , it won’t come to that. For your sake and especially mine.”

 

* * *

 

When The Boss said errands, Carlos wasn’t expecting drug runs and money. He didn’t have much experience outside of loan sharking, and even then, he mostly had to rely on himself to get work done. He wondered if this was as mundane as getting laundry done for the Saints, judging from how laid back the Boss treated the outing.

They were driving down the highway at a dizzying speed. Carlos slunk in the passenger seat, straddling the bag full of money between his feet. The buildings and the sky blurred by him too fast to register any single one, but above it all was the Phillips Tower. A constant presence, and a reminder of how much things had changed without The Boss.

“Did you ever think you were gonna die?” Carlos asked innocently, staring out past the blurred buildings. 

“What?”

“Not a lot of people walk out of an explosion like nothing happened. Just askin’.” 

“Being knocked out for a few years helps too.”

Carlos stayed quiet, brown eyes darting from building to building as fast as they passed by, hoping to focus on something other than the awkward conversation he initiated. 

“Hey,” The Boss began, clearing his throat, “Thanks for coming. Didn’t think I’d be able to catch that cheating motherfucker if it weren’t for you.”

Carlos smiled, “We’re all helping each other out.” 

“Didn’t know you could run so fast.”

“I was a loan shark, had to chase a few people down in my time.”

“Oh yeah? You never told me anything about that. Got any good stories?”

“Yeah. There was one guy who owed me like… I think it was five grand? Six?,” he waved his hands, “Doesn’t matter, anyway-- I had to call him up, he was _way_ past due. He gets someone of his on the phone and tells me he’s gonna run.”

The buildings passed by with a blur, punctuated by the sound of wind blowing through the passenger side window that didn’t quite roll up right.

“Anyway,” Carlos continued, “When he said run I thought he was gonna buy flight tickets or something. So I call up some favors, see if I can get to this guy before he leaves and before I know it, I see this fucker literally _running_ down the street with a bag full of cash.”

The Boss laughed, “No way.”

“Yeah, man! I thought, there’s no way this fucker could be this dumb. Like this _had_ to be a trap.”

“Was it?”

Carlos laughed, “No! The dude literally just ran down and thought I wouldn’t try to catch him. Shot him in the leg, got my cash and went back on my way.” 

The Boss shook his head in disbelief, “You never tell us any of these stories!” He fiddled with the volume knob.

“You’re just special.” 

“Comes with the territory of being me.”

“Oh no, I let it get to your head.” Carlos’s eyes wandered down to the heavy bag between his legs, “Never made bank like this though. That five grand was one of the bigger ones I had.”

A thought lingered, a pause, before Carlos spoke again, “You’re going in hard with the Samedi.”

“They were gonna kill Shaundi,” and then, the Boss’s tone changed, “And you know, green’s a really fucking ugly color. Ruins my aesthetic.” The Boss reached over to change the station,

“Can’t run this town if they’re the ones supplying the drugs.”

They drove for a while, and Carlos never took his eyes from the scenery that whizzed past. 

“Hey so, you coming to my place later?” The Boss sounded unsure.

“Huh, me?” Carlos snapped back into reality. 

“Yeah, _cabron_ , you.”

“Why?”

The Boss let out a huff of a laugh, “What do you mean, ‘why’? You know why.”

Carlos was drawing a blank. He wasn’t sure if he genuinely didn’t know why, or if he did know but was afraid of being wrong, “Sex?” he answered cautiously.

“Well, yeah, that,” Ramon laughed, more out of embarrassment than anything humorous, “You’re good company, though. Outside of sex. I could use some of that right now. Company, that is. But the sex is a bonus too. Fuck. I messed it up. Sounded _way_ smoother in my head.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Carlos relaxed now, smiling, “Though you could’a been more honest about it.” 

“You’re seein’ right through me.” 

“Always do, Boss,” a smile.

This was comfortable. This was something he could get used to. Running from trouble, getting high from adrenaline. Taking the city as theirs one rival at a time. Hanging at each other’s place, talking about everything. The sex was great too.

He wondered if this was being in a relationship was like. A real one. Not hookups over the weekend.  
  
Then he stopped, realization hit him: Was he hoping for too much, too soon? He looked over to the Boss, and swallowed a lump in his throat. _‘Back off. This won’t work.’_

 

_ _


	4. Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unsatisfied with The Boss’s stance on their relationship, Carlos finds the honest approach only confirms his disappointment. The test of their relationship comes to a head when The Ronin take out Aisha and Johnny Gat, leaving The Boss in a very vulnerable position.

* * *

_"Creo que tengo miedo de ser feliz porque siempre que me pongo demasiado feliz, algo malo pasa."_

* * *

 

That night was like all the others they’ve been having lately. Carlos would stumble in with The Boss, and before the door could close, their mouths were already on each other’s. They’d leave their take-out dinners on the cheap, folding table. Sometimes their clothes would still be stained with blood and dirt from an earlier fight. But they always ended up the same; naked and in bed, exhausted from sex. It was so odd, Carlos thought, that he’d find company like this with someone like The Boss. Ramón. That was the name he’d use in those intimate moments.

“Hungry?” Ramón sighed, smiling wide and pleasured, “‘Cause fuck, you worked up my appetite.”

“You want my egg rolls?”

“Hell yes.”

The TV blared out late-night reruns of _Bobby and Amber_. Carlos never saw the point, never liked the show, but it’s been so long since he’s seen Ramón relax like this. He had taken out the Samedi, and slowly, they were working on The Ronin next.

A commercial was on, and at that point, Carlos was hardly paying attention. He was enjoying the company as much as he could. Just being with Ramón… it was satisfying. Ramón was good-looking, he never denied it himself-- he’d be too stupid to, and he didn’t own that brand of modesty. Carlos liked to focus on his lips; full and shapely, and pierced with a single ring on the lower-left side. Ramón sometimes took it out, played with it, changed the jewellery, and Carlos remained fascinated, always wanting to kiss him after.

He was falling for him. And Carlos soon realized it wasn’t because this was the leader of the Saints he was snuggling up to. There was more to it, but even Carlos could see that he was afraid of admitting the truth. If he just kept quiet, if he didn’t think about it, he wouldn’t set himself up for disappointment.

Ramón was slumping further and further into his place on the bed, his head resting against Carlos’s as the night went on. There was something calming about the moment. It was as if the problem with the gangs out in Stilwater didn’t matter. The sickly glow from the television was all that illuminated the room, the sounds of stifled actors repeating canned lines for a commercial surrounded the small basement apartment. The sound of cars driving above them, rumbling the narrow streets with the sound of their engines.

All that mattered was that moment. But something bubbled inside his gut. He needed to know.

“I gotta ask you something,” Carlos figured the best way to get an answer was to come out and say it.

“Shoot.”

“What are we?”

Ramón raised a brow and craned his head the best he could to take a look at Carlos, “What do you mean, ‘what are we’?” He closed his eyes and resumed a more comfortable position, “We’re us. If you wanna get technical, we’re Saints. I dunno man. What are you asking?”

Carlos kept his eyes locked on to the spot behind the television. “I meant like… you and me. Like, right now. What are we? Are we…” Carlos didn’t want to say it, “...y’know. Together?” He said it quickly, hoping Ramón didn’t catch it.

“I don’t know,” Ramón answered as honestly as he could, “I don’t know, man.”

Carlos was disappointed, and it showed.

Ramón reached out, unsure, and his hand floated awkwardly between them. “I don’t know,” that was the honest truth, “Does it have to be a thing?” He returned it to his side. He hurt him, he knew.

Carlos shrugged, but the disappointment was clear in his face, and there was no turning back. He should’ve guessed.

“Look, it’s… I like you. You’re fun.”

“No, I hear you,” Carlos tried to be rational about the situation. A part of him knew he wasn’t going to go far with someone like The Boss. After all, there’s a reason why you’re not supposed to sleep with your leader, “I just wanted to know. Keep things clean, y’know?” _Better if they weren’t together. That’d make things complicated._ Carlos rationalized and rationalized in his head.

Ramón wasn’t sure how to take that, “Look, I like… I like where this is going,” came the confession, “I just... “ a sigh, “It’s just, I’ve been… heavy shit’s hit me, y’know? I just wanna take it one day at a time. See where it goes. Feel it out.”

Carlos nodded. He knew it was silly to hope for more, but it didn’t stop, or hide, his disappointment. “I know what you mean, I get it.” He managed a smile, though Ramón saw right through it, “Like I said, just wanted to know where we stood.” He grabbed the remote and changed the channel, “C’mon, we got a big day tomorrow right? Mind if I hang out here tonight?”

He settled into bed, not completely satisfied with the way either of them handled the situation.

* * *

  
The hideout was quiet that day.

Not quiet in the sense that it was empty. There were Saints. Everyone went on their way, doing their work, doing what they could to make things look as normal as possible.

The Boss wore a haunted look on his face-- dead and faraway. Pierce and Shaundi cleared the room whenever he walked in. He wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t respond, it was as if he wasn’t really there. He would sit in his room, on the edge of the bed, in deep, quiet contemplation, never leaving for hours at a time.

“What happened?” Carlos asked, as he nursed a bottle of beer in his hands, “He’s been out of it all day.”

“The Ronin got Aisha and Gat. The Boss is… well. He’s not all there, man. I think we better leave him alone. We find our own work for now. Finish what we already have.” Pierce didn’t meet Carlos’s gaze, keeping his eyes locked on the chessboard on the coffee table. Carlos could feel his heart drop into his stomach when he heard the news.

Carlos nodded, “Sure.”

“They got us pretty good. With Gat out of the game…”

“... maybe, let’s not think about it, yeah?”

“I’m with you.”

* * *

   
It was Lia, The Boss’s sister, who linked her arms in Carlos’s and took him out for a walk. While every other Saint was guarded and careful around The Boss’s current mood, Lia still seemed like her happy, bubbly self. As though nothing had changed.

“I’m hungry,” she announced to the Saints that day, “Anyone wanna come with me? I wanna get Chinese. Egg rolls? Anyone? There’s that cute Korean guy in the next block that I wanna flirt with. Somebody be my wingman!”

No one wanted to volunteer themselves-- The Boss was protective, and the smallest slight against _her_ was a colossal strike against _him_. And with his current state of mind, no one wanted to take the risk.

Carlos kept his head down, trying to concentrate on his worrying. But she picked him, of all people. ‘ _Great.’_

“If you’re gonna take me outta the hideout, could you at least tell me where we’re going?” He asked, as she took him in arm and out the door.

“I dunno,” she said, buffing her nails against a too big hoodie. Carlos suspected it belonged to Ramón. The Boss. “I feel like Chinese.”

“Okay.” ‘ _Why am I out here with her?’_

She kept trying to talk to him, but Carlos only had his thoughts on The Boss. He was worried about him. Would he be okay? Was The Boss going to just give up? Do something stupid? He was really only half-listening to Lia’s babbling. _‘She talks so much.’_

“Hey, I’m talking to you, _cabron._ ” Lia nudged him playfully.

“Sorry.” He kept his head down, despite being taller than her.

“Damn, you’re sprung,” she said, laughing, and brought him closer to her, “Like, I have never seen anyone get it this bad.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You and Ramón?” she giggled, “He likes you.”

Carlos didn’t want to jump at that, but his face went red all the same, “What’s that got to do with anything? It’s not a big thing.”

“Oh come on. Don’t act like it’s nothing. He talks about you.”

Carlos didn’t want to say, ‘About what?’, but he thought it.

Lia took the hint, and continued, “He likes you a lot. He tells me loads about how you’ve got a lot of potential. How you’re determined and stuff, ‘real good guy’ he tells me. Loyal was the word.”

Carlos wasn’t sure if that was true or if Lia was just saying it to make him feel better.

“Says you’re pretty easy on the eyes too.”

“Why are you telling me this?” He didn’t mean to sound curt, but he hadn’t been in the best emotional state since his last conversation with The Boss.

Lia pulled the hood over her head and stuffed her hands into the front pockets, the wind was picking up, “He’s never talked about anyone the way he talks about you. And I know you’re worried about him. We all are.”

They pulled into the small restaurant, with old twinkling fairy lights in red, money packets pasted on the front door and the faint smell of sesame seed oil. They took a seat in the corner, which Lia proudly proclaimed was ‘her spot’. The menus were laminated pieces of paper, slick with oil and sticky with sauce.

“Gat got hurt pretty bad,” Carlos mentioned. Nothing seemed appetizing. Normally he’d be able to wolf down his food with little care. Ramón always commented how he ate like pig.

“Johnny’s a tough guy,” Lia said nonchalantly, “He’ll pull through. You could put him in a crashing plane and he’d still have time to kill a few more assholes.” She ooh’d and aah’d at the selection, pointing excitedly at the menu when the waitress came by to take their order.

“Gat’s still a person,” he reasoned, “He’s not like… a god or anything.”

“Sure looks it,” she giggled.

“How can you be so…” he gestured at her vaguely, “How can you be so you?”

She wasn’t sure what he had meant at first, but soon caught on, “Oh, um...” She shrugged, “I don’t know. I just thought… Ramón’s been through a lot. I figure someone’s gotta keep him on his toes.”

“That’s not the real reason.” A sharp look.

“It’s not,” she replied, “But he needs to remember to stop taking himself so seriously,” a pause, “I mean… I know what he’s going through. I don’t want him to feel the way I did. No one needs to feel that way.”

Carlos looked at her, quietly asking for an explanation with his big, brown eyes.

“When they told me he wouldn’t pull through, I stormed over to Johnny’s house. Wasn’t easy. I pulled a few strings, did a few favors, just to find where that fucker lived. Got into a fight with one guy, and almost got stabbed,” she added, with a finger pointing to him, “Don’t tell Ramón that.”

“What happened?” He was impressed she managed. They weren’t that far apart in age, either.

“Johnny told me that there’s no telling what might happen. He was surprised I had the guts to come up to him like that. I told him I didn’t want to lose Ramón, I wanted to be a Saint. If he was gonna die then I was gonna be the best damn Saint to make sure he didn’t die for nothing.”

And immediately, Carlos could relate. He knew what that was like. He remembered his brother, he remembered that same feeling of helplessness. He remembered attending the funeral and telling himself this wouldn’t be for nothing.

“Johnny didn’t let me. Said I was too young to be canonized, as if that was ever a rule. That if he let me become a Saint, Ramón would get up from the grave and shoot _him_ dead,” Lia laughed, “I believed it. But I told him I wanted to do something. Anything to help.”

“How’d you convince him?”

“Johnny kept telling me no. Aisha told me I could try doing my music again. But I was too angry. When Ramón came back, I told him he owed me one for letting me down. For making me think he was dead. I had to tell our mom that my brother was probably dead. I wasn’t being very fair, but I was really upset. I bullied Ramón into letting me join. He uh, he got real upset when I came back from being canonized.”

The food came, tied up in a plastic bag with an impossible knot. The money was paid, and the pair were on their way back.

“Ramón doesn’t like me being a Saint. He told me he hated it. That he doesn’t know what stupid thing he’d do if he lost me. I told him I already went through it, maybe he needed a taste of his own medicine.”

“That’s pretty low,” Carlos frowned.

“I know. I’m not proud of it. But I have to just be me. Even if others think it’s weird. Ramón’s been through a lot. I don’t want him to think that he’s got to be this big tough guy. He’s not.”

Carlos wouldn’t know, wasn’t sure if he was allowed to know.

“You make him really happy, you know,” she added, picking at the fried snacks in the bag, popping them into her mouth, “Are you two together? Like, officially?”

“He didn’t say.”

She nodded, and after a moment, finally said, “You should go to him.”

“He’s not in the mood.”

“You don’t have to do anything to him… or with him. Just keep him company. I think he needs someone.”

“Why not you?”

“I’m trying to help _you_.” 

Carlos raised a brow.

“Trust me.”

 

* * *

  
It was night by the time Carlos returned to the hideout. He made his way to The Boss’s room with bags of take-out Chinese, “Hey,” he called softly, poking his head around the doorframe, “Hey, it’s getting late. Thought you might want something to eat.” He braved a few more steps into the dim room.

But The Boss didn’t reply. Carlos shifted uncomfortably in place, not sure how to take this silence. When The Boss was quiet, most people could guess what he meant by it; whether he was pissed, in concentration, or simply didn’t feel like talking. Whatever The Boss had been feeling that night was different.

“So um, I’m just gonna come in, okay?” Carlos stepped in further, “I’m gonna leave ‘em on the table.” Still no response.

There was something heavy in the air, and it whirled around the lone figure on the bed, back towards Carlos, shoulders hunched over in impossible grief.

He sat beside The Boss, not too close, but enough to feel the warmth of his body, “Just thought I’d check on you.”

The Boss gave him a sidelong glance, and Carlos could see the wetness of his eyes. He immediately looked down. This felt too intimate, too soon. He wondered why he listened to Lia.

“You went out with Lia?” The Boss’s voice was hoarse, raspy, quiet. Carlos had to listen hard to understand him.

“Yeah. She was hungry, wanted to get something to eat. We got something for you too.”

“Thanks.” A sigh, “I’m not really hungry though.” Carlos could smell cigarettes on his breath.

Carlos sat there in silence for what seemed like forever, but a glance at his watch showed only fifteen minutes passed. He was about to get up, when The Boss held him back with, “Thanks for… being around.”

Carlos looked to him.

“It’s just been a crazy day. I don’t know what I’m supposed to…” he didn’t want to say ‘feel’, “I don’t know, man.”

Carlos shifted in his place. He was just as lost as The Boss. Ramón.

“Just… can you stay? I need…” Ramón scratched his head, eyes away from Carlos, “I just need someone to talk to.”

“Sure,” Carlos returned to his spot beside Ramón, who took his hands into his own and held them there. Carlos wondered if Ramón had wanted to say something then. He always came off as the type of person who wanted to say so much, but kept it down for appearances. He didn’t doubt that he could have said far worse (or better) to the other Saints, but restrained himself.

This time was no different.

“Got something on your mind?” Carlos pried.

“A lot.”

“Do you want to talk?”

Ramón shook his head, let go of Carlos’s hand and fell backwards onto the bed. Carlos joined him soon after.

“We’ll get through it.” Carlos started, voice low, just for Ramón to hear.

“I know we will,” a frown, “It’s just shitty now.”

“I know.”

“Aisha and Johnny took care of Lia, did you know?”

“I didn’t.”

“They were like family to me.”

Carlos shuffled uncomfortably.

“No one fucks with my family, no one fucks with my Saints,” Ramón said with all the seriousness his position would allow him. He looked to Carlos, “I’m going to destroy them.”

“I know you will.”

That seemed to have softened Ramón, “Do you always just know what to say or are you just trying to make me feel better?”

A shrug from Carlos, a smile growing in the corner of his lips, “Maybe both.”

“Mind staying with me for a while?”

“Sure.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I cheated with the art a bit? The next update might be a double whammy, we'll see how fast I can finish 'em up ;D Stay tuned and thank you for all the kudos and kind comments over on Tumblr!


	5. Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are finally starting to look up. The Saints are moving on to becoming the dominant power in Stilwater, and Carlos finds himself at a comfortable peace with The Boss.

* * *

_“Y me dijo …”_

* * *

  

Life slowly crept back into Ramón, Carlos could see it. He laughed, smiled, spoke more, opened himself up. They talked about nothing all night, drank out of brown bags as they walked to his basement loft. His eyes were as bright as ever, happier. His eyes. He would never forget those eyes.

The basement loft in Prawn Court wasn’t a spectacular sight. It was a cramped apartment with sparse belongings, a fluorescent light hummed quiet as it blinked to life, “Sorry it’s a shithole. Only place I could find.”

Carlos didn’t mind. He lived in worse, “At least you have the place to yourself.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s one way to look at it,” Ramón kicked off his sneakers and flopped onto the bed, “This has been such a shit week,” he moaned, hands over his face.

Carlos shyly sat beside him, still holding onto the brown bag of beers and whiskey, “You know what they say about shit weeks.”

“What?”

Carlos smiled, “Nothing, because it’s a shit week.”

“That was a bad joke,” Ramón still returned the smile, “That was really bad.”

“Shooting my dreams down again? Fuck me, man. How am I supposed to break into my comedy career now?”

Ramón gave a knowing look to Carlos, “Yeah? You make a better banger. I can work on that.”

Carlos didn’t lose the meaning behind those words, and to distract himself, began drinking again, “So I’ve been told.”

He passed one to Ramón, who propped himself up on his elbow and took lazy swigs. He didn’t say a word after that, but took his time to study Carlos up and down. His sideways smirk grew wider, “I like what I see.” He bit his bottom lip.

Carlos looked down, flustered, but smiling wide, “Oh yeah?” He braved a look at Ramón, “Already making comments like that? You a lightweight?” That earned Carlos a pillow to the face.

“Do you like the whole package or just the additional features?” He egged Ramón on.

“I dunno,” Ramón put the bottle down and scooted closer to Carlos, pulling him down onto the bed with one strong arm. His face was close to Carlos’s, a painful tease, and he brushed his lips over Carlos’s, “The whole package.”

Carlos broke away, he didn’t stop smiling, and he didn’t stop drinking. _Courage juice_ he thought. “I could say the same about you.”

“You never hid it.”

Carlos let out an embarrassed laugh, “Shit. That obvious?”

“I’m flattered,” Ramón put a hand over his heart, “A banger like you eyeing me like that.”

“I’m not much of a banger, if we’re being _completely_ honest here.”

Ramón closed the distance between them again, “A loan shark is a kind of banger, mm? You could be the guy we go to when people owe the Saints money, right up your alley, right? I could put on a tough guy act, you steal their car, fun shit like that. _I’d_ do it all the time with you.”

“You sure know how to make a guy feel special.”

It came all of a sudden, Ramón’s lips against his. It was a surprise. To feel him that way. ‘ _We’re kissing,’_ Carlos thought, ‘ _I’m kissing him. I’m kissing the boss._ ’ Lovestruck thoughts, as he continued the kiss. He dropped the bottle, spilling the contents on the floor. He put his hands to Ramón’s face and pushed him down against the mattress.

Carlos trailed his kisses up along Ramón’s jaw, sucking on skin where his ear and neck met.

He found himself straddled on top of Ramón’s hips, still fully clothed. Ramón ran his hands down Carlos’s side, admiring the view, “You’d look so much better without those clothes off y’know.” Ramón began pulling off his clothes, revealing Carlos’s thin, athletic build, his fair skin, the fine, dark hairs down his stomach that curled down.

“Your turn,” Carlos replied, returning the favor. Ramón looked tough, felt it. But Carlos was more fixated on his tattoos-- dark ink on dark skin, messages and meanings that maybe one day, he would understand.

They were kissing shortly after, removing more and more of their clothing the more passionate their encounter became.

“I want to see you,” Ramón breathed, voice heavy with lust, “I want to see you like this.”

Carlos was only too happy to oblige. He let Ramón take him, his body stretched in pleasure as he tried to keep his balance over Ramón’s hips. Seeing Ramón that way made Carlos dizzy with confidence. To make the leader of the Saints feel this way about him, to do this with him. He was on top of the world.

The drinks did nothing to make the experience memorable. Carlos wished he could’ve remembered more of it. All he could recollect in perfect clarity was falling to Ramón’s side, breathless, “I want to do this again with you.”

  
“Yeah? Me too.”

 

* * *

 

It was another night at the Boss’s. The basement loft wasn’t pretty, but Carlos didn’t mind. It smelled musty and the paint on the walls were peeling, but it had become so familiar to him, he didn’t know where else he’d spend his nights.

He could hear thunder rolling outside, see the raindrops splatter on the windows. He wondered if his nights were always going to be like this. He settled into the small shared bed, the figure beside him asleep, snoring. Content after a long night, just the two of them with plenty of free time and imagination.

Carlos wondered if they could stay like this forever.


	6. End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All good things must come to an end, as Carlos and the Boss soon learn.

* * *

_"Siempre supe cómo decir adiós, pero nunca aprendí como soltar de la mano."_

* * *

 

Carlos was beside himself with joy when Ramón admitted, albeit casually, that he and Carlos were official. It wasn’t that Carlos needed further confirmation, but to hear it from someone as tight-lipped as Ramón was… entirely something else. Something special.

They exchanged ‘I love yous’ freely after that. They stayed in that Prawn Court loft where time would stand still. He heard all of Ramón’s life stories-- how he lost his father, how he loved Lia, how he was the quiet kid in school. Carlos never thought he’d get this far with anyone, let alone the leader of the Third Street Saints.

“Hey, so now that you and I are a thing…” Carlos joked one morning over microwave breakfast, “Do I get to call myself Mr. Ramón Suarez?” A laugh, “Do we get to have a song?”

Ramón raised a brow, “Ha ha, very cute,” he nudged Carlos, talking through a mouth full of food, “The only song you’re getting is whatever I pick on the radio.”

“Oh, I know! Ne-Yo’s _So Sick_.”

Ramón raised a brow, laughing despite himself, “You’re a real comedian, _cabron_.”

“I’ll be here all evening!”

Despite himself, Ramón was laughing, “Fucking hell, how the fuck did I get it so bad for you?”

“I’m charming."  
__  
“Never change.”  
  


* * *

  
The hideout was busy as ever, especially as the Saints began making a more terrifying name for themselves. Work was quickly being done to Purgatory, with new furniture and fixtures being brought in and installed. The custom jerseys was Pierce’s idea.

Two threats had been put down, and The Boss was eager to set his sights back on reclaiming Stilwater.

“We’re gonna go after The Brotherhood next,” The Boss addressed his lieutenants, “Those fuckers have been the biggest pain in my ass since I woke up.”

Shaundi took a long drag out of her joint, letting the smoke billow lazily around her, “How? You scared Donnie shitless, now the whole crew’s acting like what they do is one big secret. Which is amazing because… y’know, they drive big trucks and listen to noise all day.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Then how are we getting information?” Pierce looked up from his chess game.

“Jessica,” Carlos spoke up, and all eyes were on him, even The Boss, “Jessica’s closest to Maero. I can think of something.”

The Boss’s eyes narrowed, “Yeah?”

“She talks a lot. I’ve been keeping track of where she’s going. What she’s doing. She’s predictable.”

“You’re sure about this?”

“I’m not gonna do anything _to_ her. But she gets chatty when she’s with her friends.”

“And what makes you think she’s not gonna recognize you? You were there with me.”

Carlos raised a brow, and without missing a beat, replied with, “She said I reminded her of her old house cleaner. I bet she thought the same about you, but she wasn’t gonna say that to the leader of the Saints who fucked up her boyfriend’s dumbass deal.”

“Point taken.”

“She’s not always the sharpest tool in the shed,” he added, “I’ll be incognito. Not like I’m going around waving my flags when I’m out getting information anyway.”

“How soon can you come back with the info?”

“Soon,” a pause, “I’ll let you know. I talked to one of the boys and they overheard some stuff too. Was thinking of putting it together. See if I can find a few more leads afterwards. I keep hearing about a shipment, but I also heard something about a deal. Could be related.”

The Boss nodded, and then turned to Pierce, “Follow it up.”

“What?” Pierce cried, “That’s it? Just because you and Carlos--”

The Boss gave an icy glare, and the subject was dropped. “Fuck you say?”  
  
Pierce swallowed his pride, but the frustration was clear in his eyes, “I’ll follow it up.” Carlos wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

Was The Boss protecting him? __  
  


* * *

  
“I can handle myself, you know.”

“I know.”

“You’re not protecting me, are you?”

The silence was between them, but the city still buzzed with life below them, “What the fuck am I supposed to say to that?”

Neon lights colored the wet streets like bright, blurry rainbows, cars whizzing past and splashing dirty puddles on the sidewalks. Dogs barked two streets down, an argument broke out the next building over. And all Carlos could hear was the sound of his heart in his ears.

“I just… I dunno,” he admitted, head down. They both came up to the rooftop for cigarettes and conversation, a new habit they picked up and cemented. Late night missions often brought them up here, and the Saints knew better than to intrude on The Boss’s privacy. Ramón was Carlos’s during these moments, and it was here, he would bring up all of his insecurities.

“What do you want me to do, Carlos?”

He understood Ramón’s frustration, “It’s just… It’s just that I know the Saints know about us. I don’t want them to think you’re giving me easy work because we…” he sighed, and dropped it, “I dunno. I can handle myself. I know I can. I want to prove it to you. I _can_ prove it to you.”

Ramón shook his head, and lit another cigarette, “You have.”

Carlos looked to him for an explanation.

“Sure, you don’t have the head for strategy like Pierce, you’re not as tough as Johnny,” Ramón listed off, “But you’re loyal. You’re always going to put the Saints first. You’re always going to do what’s right.”

“That’s it?” Carlos didn’t mean to sound frustrated.

“Pierce is out for himself. He’s a clever fucker, and he’s got way too many gears turning in his head for him to have any business in a gang. Shaundi’s always going to look for the next party or next big hero to save her. Johnny… well, Johnny’s not himself with Aisha gone, no matter what he says or does.”

Carlos listened.

“Everyone’s got motives you know? Even Lia. She’s only in here because she wanted to spite me.” A sharp laugh, “I don’t have a lot of people I can trust. But you? I can always trust you.”

“We’re dating.”

“Even if we weren’t, Carlos, I’d still put my goddamn heart in your hands and know you wouldn’t fuck around with it. Like if I was dying, I know you’d put me out of misery. You’d do what’s right. You’re a Saint.”

The frustration didn’t leave Carlos, and it showed. He huffed, and brought his arms around himself.

“I know I haven’t… been trusting in return,” Ramón blew out smoke through his nostrils, and let his eyes wander over the streets, “I just… don’t know how to read The Brotherhood. The Ronin thought they could do it their way in our town. The Sons of Samedi were small fish-- pushin’ drugs to college kids, like that’s what’s taking down Stilwater? They had motives, I could read ‘em. I’d know where to hit them hardest.” Ramón sighed.

“Shaundi knew people who worked for the Sons of Samedi. And Pierce well… he watches a lot of those old Japanese movies. Lived in the area. He probably knew what was up with the Ronin since day one.” Carlos reasoned.

“Maybe,” a shrug, “But I also thought The Brotherhood were gonna be more diplomatic, y’know? Shit started off so well…”

“Well, now that you put radioactive ink on Maero’s face, that plan’s kinda changed. You and your damned heroics.”

“Fuck him,” Ramón interrupted with snarl, “80-20, who the fuck does he think he is? I took down the Ronin. I took down the Samedi. He’s gonna be next.”

Carlos let him rant. He moved closer to Ramón, and put an arm around his waist, “I can do this.”

“...I don’t want you to be a target.”

“They could’a picked a lot of other people other than me if they wanted to fuck you up. They could’ve picked Johnny, they could’ve picked Lia,” he listed off, and then turned to look Ramón in the eye, trying to be reassuring, “I’ll be fine. I know what I’m doing. I won’t let you down.”

Ramón broke their gaze and looked down, “I worry about you. All of you.”

“I know you do,” he nudged Ramón playfully, “You give Shaundi such a hard time but you’re always the first one to help her. Tough guy, my ass.”

Ramón laughed, patting the spot above his heart, “Yeah, yeah, just don’t let people know.”

And then silence again, but it was a comfortable one.

“I love you,” Ramón confessed, “I’m gonna be all sorts of fucked up by saying that, but I mean it.”

Carlos didn’t want to say anything. The moment was there, he wanted to seize it. He tilted his head up and brought himself up for a kiss. Their lips met. No one kissed like Ramón did, he was so strangely affectionate. He’d always hold his face in his hands, protective and gentle.

“I know. I love you too.” Carlos held Ramón’s hand on his cheek for a while longer.

“I guess getting shanked wasn’t a bad thing huh?”

“You said it was because I was dumb enough to let it happen.”

“I say a lot of things, _cabron._ But that was still pretty dumb on your end.”

The city continued living. Bright lights and sickly horizons, a clash of colors culminating at the tall, imposing skyscraper that dominated Stilwater’s skyline.  
  


* * *

  
He had been following her for hours, and Carlos was sure that this was going to be another bust. Jessica never seemed to do much when she was out with the other girls from the Brotherhood; they’d go into a store, terrorize the clerks, and leave with too many shopping bags.

They’d never talk about much, either. He checked the time on his phone, as he lazily sipped on a frozen drink, ears focused on the conversation.

“Did you hear what she said to Jack the other day?”

“I feel so bad for her, y’know? She really should just leave him. She’s been through a lot.”

“We should get something for her. She’s been all mopey lately. Like, I love her, but she’s kinda getting on my nerve.”

“Oh, I _know_ , but she’s one of us. I guess we could get her like a nice, I dunno, a little pre-breakup present?”

“She did mention wantin’ new shoes…”

It’d been like this for a week. They would say nothing about their work in the Brotherhood, and Carlos was wondering if they had done this on purpose. If they did, Carlos wondered if they knew about him.

“Hey you know, I saw a Saint the other day.”

Jessica sighed, “Ugh, they’re everywhere now, sweetie.”

“Nah, this one’s different,” the girl crossed her leg and re-tied her hair, “It’s the sister of that leader of theirs. The skinny tomboy.”

Shit. _Lia._

“What about her?”

“Heard that leader’s real protective of her. Like, life and limb, y’know?”

“Oh yeah?”

“Was thinking we’d go and visit her. Y’know, girlie talks. Be real nice to her. Take her out on a shopping trip, must be tough havin’ to live on your brother’s ugly hand me downs.”

“Ooh, I like the way you think.”

He had to keep calm. Had to keep. Calm. Needed to look like he didn’t hear that. He kept his head down, grabbed his drink, and walked down the street, away from Jessica.  
  


* * *

  
He dialled Ramón’s number with trembling fingers, panic coursing through his veins. Every second passed was a second too late. Jessica could be on her way to hurt Lia or the other Saints. Why the fuck won’t he pic--

“Carlos, wha--”

“Ramón--”

“Whoa--”

“Shut up, listen,” Carlos needed to get it out, “Listen, I heard Jessica talkin’.”

“And?”

“They’re gonna go after Lia.”

There was silence, dead and serious on the other end for a moment, “You sure about this?”

“Skinny tomboy. Sister of the Saints leader.”

“Shit."

Carlos looked around, making sure he was alone and that none of the Brotherhood was around to hear, “We gotta tell her, keep her safe somewhere.”

“Did you hear anything else?”

“No, but I will soon.” His heart raced when he saw girls dressed in red coming down his way,

“Meet me at Koi later. I’ll have something for you then.”

“Wait, that’s it?”

“Can’t talk.”

He turned around and saw her, right there, thin lips and bright blue eyes, “Well hey there,” she smiled, sweet and friendly, “Carlos right?”

He didn’t back down, and kept his guard up, “Jessica. Right. What do you want?”

The girls giggled behind her, “Aww c’mon, sweet thing, why are you like that?”

“I need to go,” he was about to walk past them, until one of the Brotherhood girls stopped him hard by his shoulder.

“C’mon, I just wanted to say hi,” Jessica pulled the front of his cap down, “You ain’t hot in that get-up? Heatwave’s gettin’ everybody all sorts of sick.”

“I’m fine.”

“Bet you are,” she smirked, “Heard you got real cozy with that leader of yours. I mean, he’s not my type, but I can see why anybody would go after him. Good for you.”

Carlos wanted to spit. He tried to shrug the bangers off him, but instead, they held him back. Onlookers quickly shuffled away, not eager to get in between whatever Carlos had gotten himself into.

He wasn’t going to be scared now.

“But y’know, I was thinkin’ lately, about that what y’all did to Maero. I mean, he’s sexy as all hell now, don’t get me wrong, real creative on your end, but…” she tapped him on the nose in a mock display of affection, “I was wonderin’ if I can’t return the favor to your man.”

Carlos’s eyes went hard and angry, “You’re asking to get fucked up, Jessica.”

Jessica giggled, “Aww sweets, it ain’t gonna be him that’s getting the makeover.”  
  


* * *

  
Carlos screamed.

They twisted his arms, held him down, and no matter how much he fought, they always found stronger members to keep him down in place. He was scared. He was so, so scared. He screamed and kicked, he did whatever he could to get himself loose. That panic intensified when he felt the chains tighten around his ankles.

“Aww, c’mon sweetie, it’s not so bad,” Jessica taunted, as she hovered over him, arms crossed and smirking, “What’s the matter? You don’t wanna take a drive with us? We got a mighty nice truck picked out for you.”

“Fuck you!” Carlos screamed, it earned him a kick in the face. He whimpered then, as he put his hands over his head, “Fuck you. Fuck you-- when The Boss comes--” another kick, this time to his gut. He yelped in pain, curling in on himself.

“You mean your boyfriend? Listen hun, I’m not scared of him. After what he did to my man, I needed to send a little thank you note. A present for a present. You’re gonna look so good for him, don’t you want that?”

Carlos struggled against the chains, tried his best to free himself, but it was no use, the chains were too tight, too secure, hooked up to an impressive fender on an impressively large truck.

“This won’t hurt a bit. Just a sting, no pain no gain, am I right? Boy, you’re gonna look so good. Your boss is gonna thank me.”

His eyes widened, he tried harder. He almost had it-- he saw the knot, he could get himself free and get to safety, if only he could just--

“Start it, boys.”

The engine revved, loud and monstrous, and before he knew it, there was searing, burning pain tearing his skin apart.

* * *

He didn’t hear the roaring engines or the screeching tires. He didn’t hear himself scream as he hit a bump or took a sharp turn. Everything felt so numb, so surreal.

“I’m dying,” he told himself, “I’m dying.”

He saw the clouds. The bright blue sky with hints of grey around the edge. It was going to rain. Rain. He remembered those rainy nights in Ramón’s apartment. He remembered being safe there. He wanted to be there now. God, if he could only be there now. This was all a dream and he’d wake up in Ramón’s arms and everything will be back to normal.

Gunfire polluted the docks, Brotherhood against Saints. Saint. From what he could see there was only Ramón.

_‘You idiot,’_ he thought to himself, _‘Why did you come alone? This is a bad dream. Oh god this hurts. This hurts so much. I wanna die.’_

He heard his name being called. God, Ramón sounded so desperate. He could barely move, could barely see, but he could feel every tear, every wound. Could smell blood and diesel and the asphalt.

Rain. He felt rain on his back. The first droplets burned like acid. He could hear Ramón running to him, the city suddenly quiet. Ramón pulled him, tried to get him up, crying when he saw what had happened to him. Ramón’s attempts were so brave, trying to free him, trying so desperately to save him.

He came alone, there was no help. He screamed for someone, anyone to help, but Stilwater was empty.

“Carlos! Carlos, what the fuck, what did they do to you?” He was in tears now, “Carlos, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. I love you, I’m so sorry.” He started to blubber in Spanish. The Brotherhood got him, Carlos felt so stupid for doing this to Ramón. He didn’t deserve it. No one did.

He tried to say his name, just one last time, but all that came out was a whimper. Carlos cried out of pain, out of sadness, he wanted to wake up already. This was too much.

“Carlos, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, please forgive me, please. I’m so sorry,” Ramón held his hands, touched his cheeks, his blood on his hands now, “I’m so sorry, I did this to you, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Fuck.”

It was on Ramón’s hands. It was his fault. But they were high off power, weren’t they? Stupid. This was all stupid. Stupid and tragic.

Still, he couldn’t see Ramón like this. With what strength he had left, Carlos used it to stroke Ramón’s hand with his thumb. Reassuring. He wanted to say it wasn’t his fault. That it was The Brotherhood who were jacked up animals with too much imagination, not him. This wasn’t his fault. But that’d be lying.

“I’m so sorry. I love you.”

Those eyes. Those eyes. Carlos was never going to forget those eyes. Bright blue and piercing. Like the sky earlier. Beautiful and clear.

A gunshot echoed all around the eerily quiet city. Ramón cried out.

The last thing Carlos had seen were those eyes. He thanked God, _‘I saw him one last time.’_

  
  


* * *

  
Ramón never made it a point to cry in front of others. He’d let a few indignant tears pass, but he’d never sob or sniffle or cry.

This was different.

The funeral was so hard for him. He shook despite working every nerve trying to hide it, he clenched his jaw so tightly it gave him a headache. Everyone looked so in control, and he was there, in the middle of the graveyard, making a fool of himself. Johnny had to hold him up, pet him on the shoulder, “It’s alright, man, we’ll get ‘em for this.”

Everyone offered their condolences. That this was the price of being a Saint. That Carlos didn’t go down without a fight. Carlos Mendoza, gone but not forgotten. Blood in, blood out.

Johnny approached Ramón as he hid in his car, crying. He opened the door, sat in the passenger seat, rolled down the windows and began to smoke.

“You okay?” Johnny knew he had to be there for him, and he knew The Boss wasn’t going to lie or pretend he was fine. The Boss was there for Aisha. Johnny could be there for Carlos.

Ramón shook his head, and his shoulders trembled as he let out another sob, “Why the fuck did it have to be Carlos? Why the fuck didn’t they just come straight to me? I’m right _here._ They could’ve just come and brought that shitshow to my house but _NO._ They had to get Carlos. Fucking hell, fucking hell why did I get involved?”

Johnny knew that very _specific_ type of loss, that’s why he stayed quiet throughout his ranting. The Boss had the luck of not having a shit-eating banger come in and ruin everything. Still, didn’t change the situation. Wouldn’t make The Boss feel better, anyway.

“Fuck, they could’ve gone after Lia too. This is so fucking stupid why the fuck didn’t I just--” Ramón slammed his hands down hard on the wheel, “ _Fuck._ ”

“We’ll get ‘em.”

“They made this personal, those stupid motherfuckers.” Ramón brought his forehead against the top of the steering wheel, letting out a shaky breath, trying to calm himself down.

“They don’t know who they pissed off.”

Ramón stayed quiet.

“We’re gonna fuck ‘em up, Boss.”

Ramón gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white, “I don’t want to talk about this any more, Johnny. I just wanna kill those motherfuckers. Every one of them.”

“We will.” That was the last time any one of the Saints mentioned Carlos Mendoza around The Boss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep. It's THAT chapter, folks. One more and we'll wrap up Ramon and Carlos's story. I gotta know-- are you guys enjoying the story? Anything you like, or don't like? I'd love to get more feedback! :3


	7. Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The more things change, the more things stay the same. The Saints are now international (and legitimate) superstars. That doesn’t stop the past from haunting The Boss.

* * *

_ "Tú eres la razón por la cual me hice más fuerte, pero sigues siendo mi debilidad." _

* * *

 

Ramón couldn’t get used to sleeping alone again that night. He’d hold his pillow, and pretend it was Carlos. He’d wake up from nightmares-- memories, really-- and he’d whisper apologies and regrets.

The sound of rain made him weep. The rumble of thunder made him sob. Neon lights reflected on a wet street only made his remember all the late nights they stayed up on that gritty rooftop, doing everything and nothing and then continuing it down in his apartment.

He found little things in the apartment; some shirts, a jacket, his cap, a necklace, fading receipts and a bottle of face wash. Those were Carlos’s. Those little things made him who he was. He packed them in a plastic container, as neatly as he could, and hid it in the closet.

He saved all his text messages. Saved all the grainy photos and videos from his phone. On nights when he hurt too much, he’d look at them. A video of himself snoring while Carlos films him, trying to hold in his giggling. A photo of Carlos and Lia hugging in the middle of a party. Carlos with a red cup of… something in both hands, as he gives a wild grin. A video of Carlos wishing him ‘Happy Birthday’ a week too early. A flirtatious picture of Carlos, shirtless in his bathroom, pointing at his lithe figure, as if to surprise Ramón when he looked through his phone.

The last picture broke him: A picture of himself, smiling, while Carlos kisses him on the cheek.

No one had seen these. Memories stored away on file, never to be seen by anyone. He keeps them and moves them from phone to phone, device to device. Used on days when he missed him too much or needed hope.

No one suspected he did anything of the sort when he presented himself as The Boss to the other Saints. No one needed to know he cried himself to sleep as he would do anything to get rid of the guilt.

God, did he miss him.

* * *

 

‘There’s a Saint in all of us,’ Shaundi says at the end of the commercial with a sultry look and a smokey voice. A vision nearly everyone in the world has seen. The Saints put themselves on the world stage, international celebrities, dominating the media from movies to shows to music to fashion. They were a lifestyle. Purgatory became a pilgrimage for fans of the Saints, being canonized in the gang meant dedication only the most hardcore of admirers would consider.

Further down the street, billboards with Johnny and Pierce interrupted the skyline. Lia’s likeness placed on giant posters behind glass windows of Planet Saints. Even Ramón’s own visage was borrowed for glossy campaigns. ‘Wear it like a Saint,’ advertises one poster in a shopping mall, behind a mannequin denoting the Leader and Lieutenants’ personal styles. Shaundi was glamorous and sexy, Pierce was clean and classy, Lia was urban and trendy, but Ramón was a league all of his own.

He stayed inside the penthouse, while the other Saints partied with models and actors around the rooftop pool. Drinks in dizzying colors were passed around, heavy bass pulsated throughout, everyone had a good time.

Ramón never much liked the media side of the Saints, neither did Johnny. Pierce, Shaundi and Lia lapped it all up, they loved being in the spotlight. Shaundi credited her sobering up to her now busy schedule. Lia loved being able to do legitimate (and glamorous) work. Pierce… well, Pierce loved money, and finding ways to get more of it.

He wondered then, ‘ _ What would you think about all this?’ _

What would it have been like if Carlos was still around. Would he go with Lia to all her photoshoots? Get air time on Shaundi’s reality show? Or would he stay where the crew was, working on operations?

Shit.

He hated that thought. It crept up to him sometimes, when he was in the middle of shameless luxury. When he casually dated supermodels and actors, he’d push them away when things started getting more serious, they’d never come as close, anyway. And when they did, the fear of losing them bubbled up in his gut.

It’s not something that he preferred, but he could live without the heartache. The tabloids were notorious about Ramón’s singlehood, always asking, “Hasn’t there been someone who caught your eye?”

Ramón would answer the only way the Leader of the Saints could, “All I want is money and power. I’ve got no time or room for anything else.”

Money. Power. He had all of that now, didn’t he? He paid off the city to be his, the Saints were celebrated in every corner of the world.

He fished his phone from out of his pocket, sliding a finger across the screen with a confirmed click. It was a practiced motion when his thumb hovered over a file hidden in the device. The pictures, small and grainy, were all he had left. 

He played one video, Carlos sitting on a table, a cupcake with a birthday candle lit and a coy expression on his face:  _ ‘So Lia told me you’re getting ancient next week. I thought I’d tell you Happy Birthday before you get too old for me to date,’  _ he laughed _ , ‘Anyway, love you a lot. Even if you are getting old enough to be called abuelo.’ _

“Hey,” a voice called him, brought him out of his thoughts. He turned the phone off and looked up.

“Don’t like the party, Johnny?”

Johnny took a seat across The Boss, the leather squeaking under him, “Was nice for about five minutes. The kids seem to be having fun. Had my fill of the loud music, though.”

“The kids, huh?” The Boss chuckled, “I take it the three of them are behaving.”

“Like perfect Saints,” a toothy grin, “Saw you mopin’ in here, thought I’d come check in. Something up?” He lit a cigarette, the flash of the lighter illuminating his face.

“Just got to thinkin’ again,” The Boss leaned his head far back, staring up at the ceiling.

“You’re always thinking. Which is a pretty fuckin’ bad idea because we paid people to do that shit for you,” a pause, and then an amused chuckle, “He would’a liked all this.”

“Who?”

“C’mon, Boss, don’t make me say it. I know what you were doin’.”

The Boss’s stomach turned. Was it that obvious? “Just gets lonely at the top.”

“Thought you were seeing someone already.”

“He was getting too close,” a sigh, “Told him I couldn’t do it anymore. Hasn’t talked to me in weeks. Tabloid went and called me a heartbreaker, not that I’m in any rush to be broken up over that.”

Johnny took a long drag out of his cigarette and blew the smoke out of his nose, “Another one bites the dust, eh?” 

He knew. Johnny and The Boss had an unshakeable bond, that was plainly obvious, but the tragedies they went through together cemented them like brothers. They had both lost someone to gangs. They both sought to protect their crew, only for it to blow up in their face. Literally.

“No one’s gonna come that close.”

Johnny let The Boss talk.

“I miss him.”

“Havin’ those dreams again?”

“Every fucking night.”

Johnny nodded, “You don’t wanna see someone about that?”

“I’m not…” he bit hard on his bottom lip, “No. I’ll get over it.”

“You’ve been saying that for a while now.”

“Could say the same to you.”

Johnny put the cigarette out, “True, but I’ve always been a mess.”

“ _ Ramón! _ ” Lia called from outside, “ _ Ramón! _ ” The sound of gunfire replaced the music, screams and panicked celebrities made the scene more frantic.

Johnny and The Boss stayed calm.

“Looks like it’s gonna be one of those nights, Boss.”

A laugh, “Was wondering when this party was gonna get more exciting,” two Saints came to the both of them, handing them their assault rifles.

“Hey, Boss,” one last look from Johnny before the fight.

“What?”

“He would’a loved this.”


End file.
